


an ending is a kind of beginning

by lemonancy (homestuckatlaw)



Category: Lancer (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homestuckatlaw/pseuds/lemonancy
Kudos: 4
Collections: A Lancer Fic Collection





	1. 5010u

You sit in your folding chair, trying and failing not to squirm in excitement and nerves. This is your induction ceremony, AKA a big fucking deal! You’re facing away from the crowd, staring at Fleet Grandmaster Akesi give a long-winded speech discussing how the graduating class of the academy had some of the highest marks ever seen, and that the Director-General was proud to call us his assets, and that we, our class, these morons you’ve been in classes with for years, would be the ones to bring the protection of the Armory to billions upon billions of people on hundreds of worlds, and yadda yadda yadda, all the standard stuff you expect out of an induction ceremony.

Boring? Not exactly, just predictable. It was such an honor to be chosen for the Armory’s Lancer program that there was no way it could be truly boring, but still. Nothing surprising. His speech seemed to be coming to an end, though, judging from the repeated proclamations of “Glory to the Armory! Long live the Director-General!” You stand up with your future classmates and shouted in unison “Glory to the Armory! Long live the Director-General!”

On Fleet Grandmaster Akesi’s command, you and your new class pivoted and turned to face the audience and saluted them for the first time as Lancers-to-be. You quickly scan the crowd to find Maman and Tată. Nope, no, maybe? No wait Tată hates yellow he’d never wear that, no, OH THAT’S THEM!!!!!!

But, wait. Is Adev in the bathroom? He must be. You touch your hand to your left earring, finding the button on the large hoop that’s got your boy on speed dial, all while trying to look subtle and not panicked. He picks up on the seventh ring.

“Oh. Hey Garz. Ceremony over?”

You make a noise that means no. He replies, “Oh. Did you get my message this morning?” You make the same noise.

“Oh.”

He hangs up.

Later, you would yell at him until you were hoarse. “I GET YOU’RE ENVIOUS, BUT I NEED YOU TO BE PROUD OF ME! I AM YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND I’M ENTITLED TO THAT! BEING JEALOUS OF SOMEONE IS NORMAL BUT IF WE’RE GOING TO MAKE THIS RELATIONSHIP WORK, YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHEN SOMETHING’S WRONG, AND WE NEED TO BE ABLE TO SET IT ASIDE! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE PROUD OF ME!” Later, he would yell back. “I’M TIRED OF PLAYING SECOND FIDDLE TO YOU, GARZ! YOU’RE THIS PERFECT LITTLE ANGEL WITH GOOD EXAM SCORES. YOU LEAVE ME IN THE DUST IN EVERYTHING AND IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR! I CAN’T PUT EFFORT INTO A RELATIONSHIP WHEN YOU’RE GOING TO GO OFF AND BE A LANCER WHEN I’M STUCK IN GODS-DAMNED FLEET SCHOOL!!!!!”

It was your first fight.

It was your last fight.

Years from now, when you were twenty-four instead of eighteen, you would realize that you needed to break up with Adev. You’d come out and expressed a desire to transition, even told your parents and picked a name. But that was all you did because you were too content with Adev. He was kind to you, and loved you, and always called you his darling girlfriend when you kissed him on the cheek, so what did it matter if your superiors still called you that other name and sir?

It mattered to you deeply. You started estrogen the next morning.


	2. 5012u

The Social is a number assigned to each resident of Harrison Armory that denotes a person’s social class among other residents of both the Armory and the Purview. At the top, obviously, is the Director-General himself, Harrison III. Step down and you get the greater and lesser nobility, then the general citizenry, both Able and Standard class. Soldiers are granted Able class on admittance into any greater military program, and Lancers are granted provisional nobility upon graduation from the Harrison Armory Lancer Program. The next rung down is the lowest of the standard classes, reserved for colonial subjects who have not been granted full citizenship. But for the lowest of the low, the Armory has created a special rank. Achieved by 38714 former citizens, the rank is straightforward - deserter.

You’ve packed your bags for the final time as an officer of the Armory. Sleeping bag. Three weeks of clothes. Comp/con. A half empty bottle of estrogen, three syringes, and enough spiro to last about a month. Toothbrush, toothpaste. The two pairs of earrings you own and don’t wear, and the huge hoops you’ve worn since you were fourteen.

The plan seems pretty solid. You’re briefly home on Ras Shamra visiting your parents, so no one would think twice about you going off-planet to visit Capitol Peak. Once there, you’re supposed to get in contact with a group of HOR....US? Horizon? You’re not sure. There’s a group you’re supposed to find who will help you get off the station and into the core worlds. Then you’ll be a refugee, and will have to make it on your own. You’ve got a lot of marketable skills, like being able to pilot five different types of mech, operating a sublight vessel, and being able to speak, like, a language and a half. You’ll be fine.

Except, for right now. You’re staring at the screen of your comp/con, with your parents’ code on screen. You want to call them, to tell them what you plan to do, to tell them that you love them and would do anything for them except stay. That if they want to come, you want them to come. That you’ll escape together.

Adev, too. Even though… everything happened the way that it did. You want to tell him that you’ll miss him. You want to say that we can make it all better! We can be together and you won’t play second fiddle because you don’t want to be a soldier, you just want to help people! You would survive. Together, like he always promised you would be.

You can’t call them. The Armory would assume that they helped you desert, and would punish them accordingly. They can’t know. They have to be as ignorant as possible about your disappearance, so that when the Armory clamps down on them, they might actually survive. Harrison Armory is likely not fond of the idea of a Lancer deserting.

“The ship has arrived for transport to Capitol Peak Station. Please have your identification at the ready. We will be departing in ten minutes. Make yourselves comfortable and prepare for liftoff. Glory to the Armory!” You take a deep breath and sit down next to a stranger near the window. He turns and asks, “First time flying? The nerves go away.”

“Ha, no way. No, I’m military, I just have a new assignment that’s got me slightly out of whack. What are you headed up for?”

He grins. “I’m a salesman. I’m headed to Whiteharbor to negotiate a contract about upgrading their security mechs. The Everests are really not doing it for them.”

“Gotcha. Gonna try to get those fitted with the Tokugawa annihilators, then? You might as well just ship the full mech, because they aren’t going to want just the guns if they see the Tokugawa in action. I mean, an Everest can’t overclock.”

He looks at you blankly. “Wh-”

“My last AMT had a detachment testing the guns to see if they’d work on the next Shermans. They’re fine on their own. The Tokugawa detachment razed seven city blocks without blinking. 70 dead, 200 wounded.”

Thirty minutes of silence are broken up by the voice once again. “We have arrived at Capitol Peak Station. Please have your identification at the ready. Glory to the Armory!” As casually as you can manage, you stand up, sling your bag over your shoulder, and walk out onto your first stepping stone to freedom.

There’s an omninet cafe here, which is where you might be able to do some research on who you’re supposed to find. Typing “I’m seeking asylum from Harrison Armory and need help” into the search bar isn’t,,, exactly going to get you what you want, so you have to be more subtle. Maybe if you just search the names of the groups and read up on them, you can learn more.

HORUS seems to be, like, some freaky BDSM sex cult, which you’re not opposed to but that’s not what you want right now. Meanwhile, the Horizon Collective is a political party who believes in egalitarianism and NHP rights… sounds slightly more correct. Okay, now to find it.

“Uhm, excuse me, do you know if there’s anyone from Horizon that I could talk to on this station?” Okay, so perhaps asking the proprietor of the omninet cafe wasn’t the smartest idea, but it’s better than doing nothing and trying to find it yourself! And you need this, you need to move fast, before the Legion clues in that you’re violating the terms of your leave.

“Yeah, yeah I know a guy. What’s your name?” She asks.

After a pause, you answer “Garzetta. Last name is mine to keep.”

“Fine. You going somewhere?” She is not having any bullshit.

“Uhhhh. H-Hood Station.” That’s one you know.

“Mmmmmkay. You’re exmil and looking for Horizon on this station. I think I know what’s going on here. I’m not Horizon, and I don’t really like those guys all that much. But,” her voice drops low. “I can get you out of here. Quietly. Sound good?” Yeah. Yeah, that does sound good.

24 hours later, you’re sitting in a lovely cafe in M’Guon Station, in ring 3, while a tall, 6’4 woman with dark skin and green hair works on a comp/con across from you. She’s working on an ID. YOUR ID. Your NEW ID, with Garzetta on it. “This is the best work I’ve ever done. You shouldn’t get any trouble with this, though I’d be a little weary about heading back to where your first one was issued, because I kept the Union ID shit the same. They don’t really care and don’t hand back people as policy, so as long as you stay in core space and it’s not all obvious and stuff, you’re good.”

The Social now lists you in an elite class- one in which there are 38714 other members. You’re a deserter.


End file.
